


And Only the Willow Cried

by Eunoiabound



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, I have no excuses?, M/M, Romance (eventually), Slow-ish burn, Tags to be added as I go, highly skewed Tolkien, selflessness?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eunoiabound/pseuds/Eunoiabound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hobbits talked about their Lady and their Mother, it was a common mistake of other races to believe they were the same. But that would be incorrect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Bilbo is a hobbit, and no one except Gandalf seems quite sure what that means.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The History of Hobbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm writing chapter fic now? This idea has been floating around my head for a while. It had started as a type of Hades/Persephone story, but kind of in reverse. It evolved into this monster that I am having to write down in order to keep straight. So let's see where this leads us!

After the Great Song, after the smithing of the Dwarves and the first waking of the Eldar, when the influence of the Valar could still be felt in Arda, in the forests, hills, water and sky that were more awake than even the creatures that lived among these elements, Hobbits came into being. Unlike the Dwarves, there was no uncertainty as to their continuation. They were not the beloved Firstborn, nor the anticipated race of Men, and unlike the Dwarves they were not secret, their very existence forbidden and barely accepted by those races who were supposed to precede them. In very hobbit-like fashion, they appeared to the other races after they had already long established themselves, and by the sheer virtue of the fact that they did not elaborate on their origins, they were largely ignored as an offshoot of another race. Elves thought them the product of Men and Dwarves, Dwarves of Elves and Men, and Men of Elves and Dwarves. None of these were correct, but as Hobbits didn’t feel the need to impart their origins, and the tensions between these races were often such that the Halflings were the least important part of any discussion that might happen when they did happen to meet.

The truth of Hobbits is this. They do not know where they came from.

Their Mother was Grey, with tears in her eyes. But their Lady was Green, with tendrils that curled through her hair. And She was both, and neither, and was Day and Night, Darkness and Light. She was planning and growing, harvest and lying fallow. Gandalf heard their tales, and smiled with his pipe clutched between his teeth. Both were true, and neither was. Ilúvatar had heard Nienna’s melody in the Great Song, and had seen the problems caused by the Great Races of Arda. And so he offered his quiet daughter a small people, but who concealed great strength. 

Nienna had gratefully accepted her quiet charges, but had looked ahead, and seen the challenges that faced her children. It was then, before the world had begun that Nienna had begun to weep. For it was because of their strength that her children were needed, and yet they were still so weak compared to other races. It was then that Yavanna the Laughing, Kementári the Green came upon her, and heard her sorrows. Still angered by her husband’s secrecy in his creation of the dwarves she offered to help Nienna’s children, and gave them her gifts, the most impressive of which was an inability to be poisoned by anything that had once grown in the ground, and a great knowledge of which plants could heal.

But after their first meeting with other races, hobbits did not offer to heal anyone outside their own except in the direst of cases. Because what would heal a hobbit, with their gift from their Green Lady, would kill any who she had not touched. And then Nienna gave her children her gift. As Nienna cried, so could her children. These tears would allow whoever imbibed them to gain a part of Yavanna’s gift, allowing what would normally kill to heal. But unlike their Grey mother, hobbits could cry these tears but once in their lives, and it would irrevocably bind their fate to that of who had been blessed with their tears. But they had already healed others, and sad were those hobbits who were bound to the fate of one they did not love. For it tore them apart, their soul being bound to one they could heal but once, and rare was the case that they were loved by the one they healed. So the hobbits left.

They left their homeland, where they had been born on the shores of the Anduin, and wandered West, to where they were relatively unknown. There they stayed, rarely leaving the comfortable lands that they had created for themselves, wary of outsiders, and unlikely to travel far from their homes and their own kind. And if they referred to their Lady and their Mother, it was not their fault that only Gandalf knew the difference between the two.

In fact, most hobbits had forgotten about their ability to heal. They were aware that there were certain foods That Were Not To Be Served to non-hobbit guests, and that while bad meat could kill, there was never any worry about a child who was forever picking plans and putting them into their mouths. At worst the faunt would experience a stomach ache. But the secret behind their tears was one that was kept to a few, generally the heads of different families who carefully monitored those who were under their protection. Thus there was a great amount of shock, especially amongst the other heads of families in the Shire when it became known that Bilbo Baggins, head of the Baggins family and related to the Thain, had run off without any warning with a group of dwarves. This shock was generally replaced with annoyance when it was bandied about that this had only happened after a visit from Gandalf the Grey. Wizards, even the one wearing the Mother’s colour, were nothing but trouble.

 

* * *

Biblo had absolutely no idea as to why he had joined the quest. He could say it was because of the sorrow in the song that the Dwarves had sung, or the temptation of the unsigned contract that had been sitting on his table when he woke the morning after. He could even say it was due to loneliness that he had signed on to this foolhardy scheme. He could say all of these things, and while they were to a measure true, they were not the reason he had gone. Something deep in his bones had resonated, had urged him to pack his bags and leave. It wasn’t even telling him to go with the dwarves. The urge had been building for weeks, making him irritable and even more Bagginsish than normal as he fought to resist the urge to go wander. He had resisted, until he had felt the stillness in his bones in the bright, still morning light of the Shire. He could hear Hamfast Gamgee coming up the row, as he had for years, and the Chubb faunts running around after a chicken that had escaped again. It was more of the same. 

"What is there to write?" Bilbo murmured, hands clutching the back of a chair as he stared at the unsigned contract."What is there to write when nothing ever happens to me."

This is what he what he would tell himself. It would only be later, when the darkest times were upon him, and he had no more energy for pretence that he would admit to hearing a woman weeping, echoing in the lonely corners of Bag End, driving from the only home he had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not created the phrase "Nothing ever happens to me." Martin Freeman says it in Sherlock, and I am using it kind of as an homage to the growth and change that Bilbo is going to go through. Also, I used it and only realized in editing why I could so easily imagine Martin saying it. He had. Oops. Just thought I should acknowledge right away that that line isn't mine.


	2. A Baggins Family Recipe

Bilbo had not anticipated how difficult traveling would be for him. As a tween he had traveled around the Shire, sleeping in the gentle woods and crossing quiet streams. Once, in a particular feat of daring, he had traveled past the Bree-lands by himself. It was normal for tween Tooks to travel there in groups, but to go by himself! Well, his cousins, on the Took side at least, had found him to be particularly daring after that. 

This was nothing like that.

Traveling with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was difficult, as well as slightly problematic. While they were friendly enough and attempted to include him, he was not one of them. One of them would call something out in their low, rumbling language, and the others would laugh. At first he had stayed quiet, but on the third day he had asked Bofur what had been said.

Bofur had looked at him askance, and then sighed. "I can't tell yah, Mr. Baggins. They really shouldn't be speaking it around outsiders, but what with Tharkun having visited Erebor often, what with being a wizard besides, you being so quiet-like, and my cousin-". Here he stopped.

Bilbo didn't understand. "What does this have to do with your language and not telling me what said?"

After looking to make sure that the others were really paying any attention to them, Bofur continued quietly, his brogue not being the only thing making the words fall thickly in Bilbo's ears. "Dwarves have a secret language, unknown to outsiders. It's forbidden to teach it, and nearly forbidden to speak it around outsiders. My cousin's injury makes it so he can only speak Khuzdul, making communicating a problem. Gandalf has seen many Kings Under the Mountain rise and fall. And I think the Company forgets that you are here sometimes as they call out among themselves."

It was just another pain, like the others that he had collected so far since he had left his comfortable smial. Bilbo rubbed the reins of Myrtle's bridle between his fingers, and forced a laugh. "Well, I am quieter and smaller than you all. I suppose that is only to be expected." His smile was a little more genuine after he saw Bofur smile at his comment. "I think everyone would be quieter than a dwarf with your heavy, iron toed shoes." This startled a laugh out of Biblo.

"Yah might be right about that, Mr. Baggins. We are not quiet by nature, us dwarves. Our forges and mines ring with the sounds of hammers, and we don't like our homes to be much quieter."

Bilbo thought of his own home. It was quiet and peaceful, only the occasional visitor, and even fewer were the visitors he enjoyed. He had his books and his garden, and it was a pleasant life, if maybe not as social as the one that Bofur was describing. "In general, I suppose hobbits are the same. Hobbits have large families, and with that many faunts houses are rarely quiet."

"Faunts? Is that what your bairns are called?"

"Yes, though only just to the age of ten. After that they are a child, then a tween and then a adult. Generally parents have a few of each age running about."

Bofur's eyes widened as he sputtered. " A few of each?! How large are halfling families? "

"Generally around eight? I was very unusual as an only child, and my mother was normal as the child of nine. My cousin has fourteen, which is more than is usual, I grant you. Bofur?" Bilbo worried as Bofur looked like he was choking. "Do dwarves not have that many children?"

"Nah, Mr.Baggins. Dwarves are lucky if they have one or two, and considered even more blessed if one of them is a girl child." He hesitated, "The line of Durin was thought to be 'specially blessed in the years b'fore the fall of Erebor. Three children, and one of them a girl child. They thought it was a blessing from the heart of the mountain itself. But it came to nothing." Another shout was heard from the front of the line, and with a muttered "Bifur, what the-" Bofur rode off.

Three children from the line of Durin. And females a special mark of favour? Biblo knew that Thorin had a sister, it was one of the first things that Fili and Kili had told him, that Thorin was their uncle. But where was his brother? He had heard nothing of a second prince. Why would this brother not be with them. The only reason that Bilbo could think of was that this mysterious brother was dead. Perhaps when the dragon came.

* * *

 Things slowly got better. Bilbo tried to speak up a little more, while trying carefully to avoid asking anything about dwarven culture. The dwarves seemed to talk to him more, especially the younger ones. Often it was he that was sent to the younger dwarves who were on watch, though Biblo was not sure whether it was comment on his growing familiarity with them, or if it was all that the leader of their company thought that he was capable of. No matter. It gave him the oppertunity to get to know Fili and Kili better. There had been apologies about their orc stories, most likely prompted by their uncle's disapproval and Balin's stern eyes. For this reason Bilbo felt an almost irresistible urge to swear when he saw the looks on their faces when he went to give them their dinner as they watched the ponies. If there was ever a look that said 'we're in trouble' this was it.

And of course he was right.

How in the Lady's bounty had he thought that he would be able to free the ponies from TROLLS without even a knife? Watching the dwarves throw down their weapons after he had been captured had been terrifying. He wanted to be saved, he didn't want to die, but to watch them die needlessly as the dinner of three trolls when they were trying to retake their homeland? He felt more like a burden than he had so far. Here he was, the weakest member of the company, the outsider, the one who kept the dwarves from retaking Erebor.

It was his fault, in the end. He had been weak, not enough to fulfil his task as burglar, and they were all going to die. Bilbo watched in horror as some of the dwarves were attached to a spit over the fire, and the others were tied up in sacks. He could hear the wind moaning and sobbing through the trees, barely discernible through the angry noise of the dwarves and the trolls debates on how to cook them.

How to cook them!

Bilbo knew that there were plants that killed people that weren’t hobbits, and he was praying on the Lady’s harvest that they would work on trolls, and that he would be able to remember which ones were dangerous. Seeing Kili beside him, he leaned over slightly. “Kili. Kili!”

Kili left off his yelling for a moment to look at Bilbo. “What?”

“Do you know what plants are dangerous to dwarves?”

The look on Kili’s face was asking why it was relevant, but when Bilbo wasn't forthcoming, he rattled off some plants, not truly paying any attention.

Hearing the word 'tree tears' Bilbo frantically searched the trees around them, hoping to see some of the dangerous mushrooms. They were a special favourite in the Shire, being hard to get growing far about the ground. Spotting some, he struggled to his feet, his pulse racing as he gathered his courage to yell.

"You never cook dwarves on a spit. They don't have enough fat on them."

There was no reaction to his words from the rolls, and very few of the company heard him. He tried again, awkwardly hopping forward in his burlap prison towards the trolls.

"YOU NEVER COOK DWARVES ON A SPIT!"

Silence. For the first time since they were captured, a moment of glorious silence. It didn't last long.

The dwarves started yelling, angry words being thrown from both the spit on the fire and from the edge of the fire light. The trolls, great daft creatures, looked like the might take the bait. Bilbo continued, trying to catch and keep their attention. "Dwarves don't have enough fat on them to be roasted over a fire. They don't crisp up nicely. Now stew. You had a nice stew base early. What was in the pot?"

The troll who'd been stirring the pot earlier grunted. "Uh, mutton." The troll who seemed to be the leader smacked him. Bilbo felt ill. Considering that the trolls had thought the ponies were sheep, he had the general idea that to the trolls, 'mutton' wasn't so much sheep as anything that walked within their reach. He nodded, ignoring that the leader did not seem to want the others to talk to him.

"Mutton is a lot like dwarf. They're both tough. Do you like mushrooms?" Bilbo prayed desperately on every aspect of the Green Lady and Grey Mother that he could thing of that the trolls would be stupid enough to keep talking. Luckily it seemed to be working. If only the bloody dwarves would just shut up!

"Mushrooms? Ain't had proper mushrooms since we left the cave! Don't know these foreign mushrooms. None of the looks right."

Bilbo gasped, actually genuinely shocked. "Not had a mushrooms since you left the cave? That won't do at all." He gave them a sly look, and attempted a conspiratorial tone that didn't work as well as it should because the blasted dwarves weren't shutting up. Though Kili looked like he was starting to put it together. "How about I share my dwarf mushroom stew recipe with you?"

Bilbo hadn't thought it was possible, but the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, King of the Dimwits Under the Mountain, got even louder.

But the trolls were caught, the call for mushrooms just as irresistible for trolls apparently as it was for Hobbits. Except Hobbits don't have to worry about stupid things like death when eating mushrooms. The trolls did.

"'ey Tom, we'd not had proper mushrooms stew for years, and there'd be dwarf bobbers. " "Yah Tom, an'then we'd know which mushyrooms be good to eat!"

Their leader, who apparently went by the innocuous name of Tom, agreed that mushyrooms "be'd nice, especially with dwarf bobbers, like mam used to make." Biblo felt his stomache roiling at the thought. 'Let's hope this works.'

"You see those mushrooms up there?" Bilbo gestured with his chin towards the tree tears, high in the trees and dimly lit by the fire. "Those are what I always put in my dwarf stew. Makes them taste less like mutton and more like proper dwarf."

Kili obviously had an idea of what was happening now, and was kicking Fili to get him to stop attacking Biblo's ankle as though he was a terrier, not a dwarf. It seemed that Thorin also realized what was happening, because he was kicking the angry dwarves around him to get them to shut up.

Apparently though tree tears grew up in the mountains. "Those be poison!" Tom's already ugly face twisted into an even more horrific expression. "You tryin'ta kill us!"

Dammit.

"Ladywepts? They aren't poison. Here, pull one down and I'll show you."

The trolls seemed unable to process his confidence with their natural, usually rather astute in this case, smallminded cunning. "Well. Come on now, are you going to pull some down or not?"

His bossiness and willingness to eat the mushrooms seemed to mollify the dwarves, but the dwarves were looking at him with varying levels of panic and... distain? Bilbo didn't have time to think on that as a chunk of treetears was stuck in front of this face. He took a huge bite, and started chewing away. He swallowed it, smiling brightly at the trolls, who were watching him closely, ignoring the roaring dwarves."That was good. Can I have some more?"

He had never seen a group of anyone outside of Took tweens grab mushrooms so greedily and stuff them in their face. But tree tears were fast acting to anyone other than Hobbits. One by one, they fell from their feet, eyes glazed as they slumped over. Biblo quickly rushed over to the blade that was stuck in the ground, and freed himself. He got to work on the dwarves in the pile, only to be halted when Kili grabbed him and didn't let go.

Bilbo was somewhat puzzled. "Kili, what is going on?

It was Bofur that answered, many of the other dwarves making sure that their friends and family were safe after their encounter with the trolls. "Yeh ate poison, Bilbo. He just don't want you to die." Bofur tipped his hat back on his head, and didn't look at him. "Can't say I want you gone either."

Bilbo could have smacked himself. Of course the dwarves didn't know the Lady's gift. "I'm not going to die, Bofur." Seeing Bofur's disbelieving expression, Bilbo smiled. "I'm not going to die from a simple mushroom, Bofur. Indeed, I don't thing there is a poison plant in the world that can kill me."

Kili let go of Bilbo, and shook him. "I thought you'd die because you ate those, and that it'd be my fault."

Ah, that would be part of the problem. "No, Kili, and even if I had died it wouldn't have been your fault. I ate the mushroom of my own volition. You did not force me into it. Be at ease." It was clear in moments like this just how young Kili, and thus Filii and Ori to an extent, really were. They told scary stories because they had no idea of the vastness of their quest. Bilbo was sure that they had killed, and seen friends die. The dwarves did not lead an easy life, but one where some of the innocence of childhood was stripped away due to necessity. But the scale that they were going to face, that Biblo severely doubted that they had a true grasp on. Bilbo, who had read records of the Wandering Days, and lived through that terrible winter, had some idea, but even h knew that he didn't grasp it entirely.

 

* * *

 

The dawn light was starting to fill the clearing as the dwarves finished freeing themselves and checking for any injuries. Oin pronounced loudly that they were fine, that they got worse burn at the forges, and didn't complain then, did they? When there were protestations against his statement, he willfully played deaf, going back the way they came for his back. It was then that Bilbo saw the tip of a grey hat peeking over the top of the great rock on one side of the small clearing, obscured by what looked like morning mists yet to be burned away by the sunlight. Climbing around the rock, he found Gandalf there, blowing smoke rings contemplatively into the air. Bilbo sat beside him. "I hope you weren't sitting there the entire time. What if I hadn't managed to save them?"

Gandalf chuckled under his breath. " I never needed you to save them, my dear Bilbo, though I thank you for it. I merely needed you to stall the trolls until the sun rose." Seeing the inquiring look on Bilbo's face, Gandalf huffed. "Did Belladonna teach you nothing? Trolls, my dear boy, turn to stone in sunlight. Though," he mused," you are quite like your mother in many ways. Killing the trolls with your cooking. Your mother would be proud." He puffed one last time, and stood up, stretching slightly. "Well, they couldn't have traveled during the day. That is why, my dear boy, there must be a cave nearby." Having apparently finished his part in the conversation, and ignoring Bilbo's slight spluttering, Gandalf wandered off around the rock and towards the dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, my friends. I have taken on to much this semester. I'm in my final year as a double major, as well as taking two languages quite unlike the two I already know, working almost full time and being on the executive of two clubs. This story is generally getting written on my cellphone in bits and peaces when I'm on break or waiting for a bus. But it's a longer chapter at least?
> 
> If any of you want to follow my rag-tag blog, it's jigreynolds over at tumbr. 
> 
> Ta!


	3. A Garden Grown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long!

The troll cave was an experience for Bilbo. He had intended on going in, eager to see what had excited the dwarves so when Gandalf had told them there had to be a cave near by. However, it only took a few steps into the cave for Bilbo to realize that he should not go in any further. The smell was of shit and decomposition, mixed with body odor that was made musty and thick by the befouled damp walls of the cave. It was so far from clean, good earth beneath his feet that Bilbo couldn't stand it. He backed up as quickly as he could, his hand clasped firmly over his nose and mouth, his stomach heaving.

From the mouth of the cave, he saw the dwarves wandering amongst the piles of dirtied gold. Thorin and Gandalf were to far into the back of the cave to see, but Bilbo could see Gloin, Bofur and Nori burying a chest of the troll gold. He heard something about a long term deposit. He supposed that in a life after Erebor there was no certainty, and that any opportunity where gold could be acquired was not to be taken lightly. He was not inexperienced with hardship, the Fell Winter had been hard on the entire Shire, on everyone on their side of the Misty Mountains. He had at least lived with his parents, and while their family had suffered, they had homes, and their food supply hadn't been that bad. He could imagine, barely, how difficult that winter must have been for a people without homes.

Some of the dwarves has not gone into the caves, and Bilbo watched as they milled around. Bombur and Bifur checking each other, Dori and Ori scouting about for the ponies, and Fili and Kili standing close to each other, whispering intently. Biblo started to approach them when Thorin came storming out of the cave, barking at those in the cave to hurry up. Bilbo's vision was obscured by grey, and then a hand holding a small sword. He looked up at Gandalf, unaware that he was being watched by numerous eyes within the company.

When he didn't reach automatically for the sword, Gandalf held it out closer to him. "This seems about your size. You should not be unarmed on a quest such as this. Take it."

Bilbo hesitantly grasped the scabbard, marveling at how light it was. Mush different for the weapons that Fili and Kili had dumped in his arms the night at Bag End. It seemed almost alive in his had, for all that he wasn't even holding the hilt. "But Gandalf, I don't know how to use it." He had been about to object that he didn't think he could kill anything, but the words got stuck in his throat. That was patently untrue. He had killed the trolls that night. 

Gandalf's normally twinkling blue eyes were so old when Bilbo looked up. "Sometimes, Bilbo, one must make the decision on whether it would do more good to take a life or to spare one. Both require courage."

His fingers tightened around the scabbard. "And yet the Mother weeps for all, does she not? For all the misery and heartbreak that happens in Arda, she weeps. Would she any less for those I would kill then for those who would kill me?"

An aged hand, still strong despite the slightly inflamed joints and age sports, rested on Bilbo's shoulder. How long, he wondered, had it taken for Gandalf to become so old? Unlike the elves, he was not immortal, bound to their youth for all their days, yet mortal he was not, and subject not to the same passage to time. "Yes, veiled child, she weeps for all. She weeps for the lives that have been taken and will be taken. But it is not hers to judge nor stop. Her job is to remember the scars that have been inflicted so that in the end they may be healed. She would not begrudge anyone the desire to live, for that is what she desires most herself."

Bilbo's eyes felt glass as he abruptly nodded his head and began fastening the belt around his waist, the hand slipping from his shoulder. "Then I shall attempt to keep her from mourning me for as long as possible."

"Bilbo," he looked up, "if nothing else, the blade will glow blue in the presence of orc and goblins. Keep it close." There was a disruption among the dwarves, and they spun towards where the group were standing. Kili had an arrow prepared when out of the bushes burst a sledge drawn by rabbits, driven by a odd, brown-cloaked man.

"Gandalf!"the man gasped. "Gandalf, I have been searching for you!"

Bilbo watched as Gandalf named the robed man Rhadegast, and listened as they talked darkness, the decay of a wood and a lack of growing things.  _I wonder,_ he thought,  _if that is the same the wood that grew near the Anduin valley._

Bilbo's ears twitched as they heard a direful sound. "Are those wolves?" He saw Rhadegast turn and really see him for the first time. Dimly he heard Bofur say something about wargs, but his attention was on the wizards. The brown wizard eyes were wide as he looked at Gandalf. "A Lady's child, far from their Greenhome. What have you done, Olórin?" But Gandalf's reply was lost in the arrival of the warg. 

The next few minutes would blur together in Bilbo's mind. Later he would recall the exact sequence of events: how Rhadegast had taken the rabbits, how Kili had not quite managed to kill the warg and rider, the slide down a steep rock slide to an underground path. But the memory that he held was the beating of his heart in his ears and the pounding of his feet against the ground as fast as he could managed, both seeming louder that the wargs that chased them. A rabbit's heart to go with a rabbit's feet, if he were to describe the moment to anyone else. 

Leaving the stone passageway and coming into the view of Rivendell was like entering a dream after the terror of what seemed minutes before, though it could have been anywhere from minutes to hours. The valley seemed frozen in time, and peaceful in a way that even the Shire could not compare. The Shire was peaceful in the way of a spring sunrise, the potential of a day about to begin with life stirring and green things growing, while Rivendell was the peace at end of a late summer's day, golden light and quite hushing. It was, Bilbo mused, very strange to come to a place so very close to living things, so very obviously alive, and yet to have so little that was green and fresh and growing.

Rivendell was grown, he found, wandering the paths the next day. It had well passed sunrise after he rose, after the late night before with the map being shown to Lord Elrond and finally laying down in a comfortable bed. It was only now that he had the opportunity to view unhindered the valley of the Last Homely Home. Standing on a balcony over looked the valley, he was barely aware of the footsteps that were behind him. Hearing them stop beside him, he turned and saw Lord Elrond. Before he could muster a greeting, Elrond had begun. "Not with your companions?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No, I shan't be missed." Indeed, though it was nearly lunchtime, he had not seen hide nor hair of any of the dwarves that day, despite having quarters along side the company. He had thought Bofur at least, or perhaps Balin would seek him out. He had no expectation of such from the other dwarves, or even Gandalf. But it seemed that whatever thawing might have been happening before the incident with the trolls and their arrival at the elven city was erased in the reminder of Thorin's old foes. A rueful grimace touched his lips as he continued. "In truth, I do not believe that most of them believe that I should be on this journey."

"Indeed?" Lord Elrond's gaze swept over the valley. "I have heard that hobbits are quite resilient." 

Bilbo scoffed, covering up the widening of the eyes and the tensing that he felt at those words from an ancient elf lord. There were stories, in the Shire. Reasons beyond the poisoning of the earth that hobbits had left their first home. Bilbo wondered if Elrond knew of those stories. If he knew of the truth behind them. "Really?"

"I've also heard that they are fond of the comforts of home." Elrond's eyebrow was raised questioningly as he looked down at Bilbo Baggins, a creature who had had a great attachment to hearth and home before he followed a pack of dwarves out of the safety of the Shire. But there was Took in him as well, as was shown by that urge to dash out his door. And that Tookish part occasionally chose the most inappropriate times to raise it's head. 

"And I have heard not to ask advice of Elves, for they will answer you both yes and no." 

Elrond's eyes widened, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You are welcome to stay here if you wish Bilbo Baggins. Or if there is anything else that I can do for you, ask and I will do my best to help. Anything for one of your Mother's Children, and the Lady's chosen." 

Bilbo hesitated. It seemed that Elrond might know some of what was sacred to hobbits. There was danger in this, but his help could also help Bilbo greatly. After all, Lord Elrond had seemed to realise the nature of the quest the night before, and yet he had not raised objection to Thorin's quest for Erebor. Indeed, he had helped with the moon runes, and had seemed very wise. Bilbo nodded. "Yes. There is something that you might be able to help with, since you know of my Mother and the Lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there isn't much I can say? It's been over a year since I've updated, but I will try to be better about this in future. Thanks to the people that continued to leave kudos and comments.


	4. An Interlude of Unfortunate Magnitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nori surprisingly takes centre stage. Everyone's opinions are shaped by their experiences, and Nori has seen the world differently.

Dwarves were not meant to be sky clad. Stone was a gentle resting place after the agony that was birth among the children of Mahal. Stone was gentle and cool, darkness that gently reflected warm light from candles and forge fires, reflecting colours that were visible only to those who were raised from the rock. It was the shame of the dwarves of Erebor, that there was an entire generation that were not only left to be wander, be tinkers and blacksmiths in the lands and towns of Men, but that they were not stone born. A generation who were not able to see the hidden colours that could in found in the deep dark, to feel the stone beneath their feet and above their heads and know exactly where they were. Not only had a generation of crafters been lost, practices that had been used by generations of families, but they could never be taught to the new generation because they did not know the embrace of the deep dark. To be skyclad was to be blind to the lands that Mahal had created them for.

There were some dwarves that had adapted more easily to being skyclad than others. While the oldest brother Ri had been raised from the rock, and remember life in the deep dark, the middle brother Ri had been raised from the rock, but had been skyclad from a very young age, making him a creature that lived between, never feeling the skyblindness that could take some dwarves so strongly.  He was comfortable both under stone and above it, and yet neither. This had lead Nori to a unique view of the world, only increased by the way his childhood had been spent, watching his beautiful mother accept copper pennies from men at the forge for her work, and silver coins when they left in the evening. Watching his brother with his jeweler’s hands pull pig iron nails instead of silver thread, and his younger brother be unable to see all the colours that were reflected by the candlelight in a gem viewed on a passing lady made Nori cynical, and prone to using his knowledge to discern glass gems from real from passing women of Men, to take them in the dark, and to sell glass baubles to skyclad darrowdams who couldn’t tell the difference.

While not overly violent himself -but with the blood of mad kings running secretly in his veins, he remembers sometimes when he sees Dori’s strength, Ori’s ability to obsess, Thorin’s dark moods- Nori’s work had put him in contact with those whose talents ran darker than thievery. Dwarves and men with knifes that were darkened so they didn’t shine in the dark, that didn’t need to stab to kill. From them he learned to recognize the names of certain plants, and how to move so quietly that even an elf would have trouble seeing him. These were all skills that Nori of the brothers Ri used when in the Last Homely Home.

Rejoining the company, Nori found Thorin and sat down beside him. He waited for the questions that Thorin had sent him whence to find answers. It didn’t take long.

“Did you find the hobbit?”

“Yes.”

Nori’s terse reply caught Thorin’s attention. He looked at the other dwarf from underneath deep brows. “And? What is your professional opinion of our burglar?” Almost drawled, a sneer teased the corners of his lips on the last word.

“My professional opinion? I think burglar might the side occupation of our dear hobbit.”

“So a landlord who dabbles in crime?”

“Just the opposite. He’s quiet, observes, cunning. But most damning was those damned mushrooms.”

More than one dwarf was listening now, and Nori could see the lack of comprehension on their faces. “Tree tears are poisonous. We know that, you saw how the trolls reacted, and it’s not just a troll thing, dwarves die from the same plant. Yet the hobbit took a wonking big bite from one, and was entirely fine.” He turned to Bofur and Kili. “Do you remember exactly what he told you about plants?”

Bofur scratched under his hat. “That twas just a simple mushroom, and that there was not a poison plant in the world that he thought could hurt him.” He shrugged. “Thought it might just be a hobbit thing?”

Kili looked a little pale. “He wasn’t sure which plants were poison. He had to ask me.”

Nori nodded. “Sound about right. I know some Men and dwarves who’ve made it their lives work to make themselves immune to the effects of various plants and poisons. They are usually assassins of some type, or in some position where poison is something they have to face often.”

“Thus,” Thorin interrupted, “you are saying that Tharkûn did not recommend to us a burglar, but an assassin or the head of a criminal society as we head to a mountain filled with the treasures of our people to face a dragon.” He shook his head. “The wizard may be mad, but I do not know if even he would go that far.”

“I last saw the hobbit talking to Lord Elrond, and then collecting numerous plants from his stores. Oin!” Nori waved to get the older dwarf’s attention. “Belladona, comphrey, bloodroot, aconite, foxglove. What can you tell me about them?”

“Dangerous, is what they are. Yes, medicinal they can be, but only in very dire and controlled situations. You’re saying the hobbit grabbed these from the elf’s stores?”

“Aye. And let me as you all this,” Nori looked at everyone who was there. Everyone but the hobbit and the wizard. “If you wanted to integrate yourself into a group quickly, to make friends and gain information without anyone noticing, who would you try to befriend? The seasoned warriors? The family groups? Or would you try to befriend the younger, less seasoned and wary in the group?”

If Nori had thought Thorin looked foreboding before, it was nothing that was compared to what was visible on his face. To use his sistersons against him, and to use the line of Durin against the Khazad? These were not things that could be easily forgotten, or forgiven. But there was more that Nori needed to relate. “Thorin, there’s something else. Elrond has called the White Council, and they arrived this afternoon.”

Thorin stood up. “We’ll have to leave before they have the opportunity to do so. Pack your bags, we’ll leave before the dawn. If you see the hobbit… let him know when we are leaving. We still have need to him. But watch him closely. Do not trust him.” He looked directly at his sistersons. “Our goal is more important than anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to update more often. You know that absolutely correct sketch going around tumblr about writer types? I am a Crocodile Hunter, and I am trying to actually organize my thoughts now for this fic. Hopefully that will make the updates come faster. 
> 
> I'm Eunoiabound over on tumblr. Come over and say hi! I love hearing from people.


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